“Well . . .”

“I had a bit of a crazy night. Can you just see?” she added, sniffling a little, and immediately regretted it. It was undignified.

But, then again, so was traipsing around Versailles playing princess in a diamond necklace you had no business wearing.

“If not, I’ll just take some croissants. Thanks.”

“I will see what I can do, Mme St. James. Apple caramel or chocolate cherry?”

“Chocolate cherry, please. Extra whipped cream, if it comes with that. Just extra everything. Thank you.”

She ended the call, climbed out of bed, and went to the window. Drawing back the shades, she could just see that sliver of the Eiffel Tower. Even now, it brought a little thrill of excitement to her. Though she’d already made herself a suspect in a crime, she was here. In the most romantic city on Earth.

And yes, anything could happen.

But that thought made her shiver. Anything bad could happen. So far, that was most of what she’d gotten. What if, like the woman on the plane, this year was the start of only bad things? What if no matter how hard she tried to live for the moment and make things amazing, it always fell short?

Or in this case, more than short . . . last night hadn’t even landed anywhere close to amazing. It was, like, not even in the same time zone.

She went out onto the balcony and looked out over the railing, holding tight to the rail to rein in the dizziness she felt. Funny, she’d never felt vertigo before, but maybe it was something about seeing Luc’s body, broken and twisted on the ground, that had forever scarred her.

She recalled the news story. The police were investigating foul play. Had someone pushed him? If so, who? She certainly hadn’t seen anyone, had she? But if someone had . . . had that person anything to do with the missing necklace?

Possibly. But the only people she remembered were those drunken people who’d nearly knocked her down as they went past. The two women who’d come into the bathroom too. Them, and Luc. There was no one else that had even gotten close to her—except that fake Marie Antoinette and Inspector Clouseau, but that was after the murder. Even then, everyone seemed to be in a happy, partying mood. No one looked the least bit shifty, like they were about to steal a priceless treasure.

It made absolutely no sense.

Below her, a car honked, distracting her from the thought. She had a full day of sightseeing planned, but she’d already blown that out of the water, moping. Not to mention, she didn’t really feel like going anywhere anymore. Her ribs still ached from the corset, and her feet hurt from the shoes. All she wanted to do was eat her crepes and crawl under the covers. Her nose was stuffy too. She was probably getting a cold.

A cool summer breeze off the Seine made her feel even more shivery, so she went inside and slid the balcony door closed. As she did, someone knocked on the door and called, “Room service!”